Not only are the vital functions of the body independent of our will, but each of our organs has been endowed, without any consent or previous knowledge on our part, with powers admirably suited to its purpose; powers which are not the result of life either of the mind or the body, but of special legislation, founded on premeditated design, and accomplishing an adaptation of means to end, wonderful for their perfection. Thus the heart, to which the lover appeals as the seat of his ardent feelings, as the most sensible organ of his system, may be rudely pressed by the hand without conveying to him the sensation that it has been touched. Harvey's celebrated experiment puts this fact beyond a doubt.

It happened that a youth of the noble family of Montgomerie had his interior exposed in an extraordinary manner, in consequence of an abscess in the side of the chest, which was caused by a fall. The youth was introduced to the presence of Charles I., and Harvey, putting one hand through the aperture, grasped the heart, and so held it for some time, without the young man being at all conscious that any new object was in contact with it, Other observations have since confirmed this discovery, and the heart is now universally declared by medical men to

be insensible! Nevertheless, we all well know that the heart is affected not only by the emotions of the mind, but by every change that takes place in the condition of the body. Here, then, is a complete proof of design. The heart, insensible to touch, which, from its internal position, it was never intended to experience, is yet sensibly alive to every variation in the circulation of the blood, and sympathises in the strictest manner with the powers of the constitution.

There is nothing, however, in the mere principle of life, still less in the physical texture of the heart, to give it insensibility to touch, and sensibility to feeling of the most active and refined description. As life is animation added to the body when formed, so this peculiar susceptibility of the heart is an endowment added to the organ by Him who made it.

Anonymous.

THE Mogul, Sultan Acbar, bore this inscription upon one of his seals (in allusion to sincerity): "I never knew a man lost upon a straight road."

A THOUGHT.

O COULD we step into the grave,
And lift the coffin lid,

And look upon the greedy worms
That eat away the dead;

It well might change the reddest cheek
Into a lily white,

And freeze the warmest blood, to look
Upon so sad a sight!

Yet still it were a sadder sight,

If in that lump of clay,

There were a sense, to feel the worms
So busy with their prey.

O pity, then, the living heart,-
The lump of living clay,-

On which the canker-worms of guilt

For ever, ever prey.

Anonymous.

THE PAST AND PRESENT TIMES.

In spite of evidence, many will still imagine to themselves the England of the Stuarts as a more pleasant country than the England in which we live. It may, at first sight, seem strange that society, while constantly moving forward with eager speed, should be constantly looking backward with tender regret. But these two propensities, inconsistent as they may appear, can easily be resolved into the same principle. Both spring from our impatience of the state in which we actually are. That impatience, while it stimulates us to surpass preceding generations, disposes us to overrate their happiness. It is in some sense, unreasonable and ungrateful in us to be constantly discontented with a condition which is constantly improving. But, in truth, there is constant improvement precisely because there is constant discontent. If we were perfectly satisfied with the present, we should cease to contrive, to labour, and

to save, with a view to the future. And it is natural that, being dissatisfied with the present, we should form a too favourable estimate of the past. In truth, we are under a deception similar to that which misleads the traveller in the Arabian desert. Beneath the caravan all is dry and bare; but far in advance, and far in the rear, is the semblance of refreshing waters. The pilgrims hasten forward and find nothing but sand, where, an hour before, they had seen a lake. They turn their eyes and see a lake, where, an hour before, they were toiling through sand. A similar illusion seems to haunt nations through every stage of the long progress from poverty and barbarism to the highest degrees of opulence and civilization. But, if we resolutely chase the mirage backwards, we shall find it recede before us into the regions of fabulous antiquity.

Macaulay.

THOUGHT is the soul's chariot.